<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>It Lives In Me by kkeithkatt</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820343">It Lives In Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkeithkatt/pseuds/kkeithkatt'>kkeithkatt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fem Sheith Works [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Braids, F/F, Fluff, Galra Culture, Getting Together, Hair, Hair Braiding, Sheithbians, Time Skips, femsheith, femsheith exchange, mention of others, pining shiro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:08:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkeithkatt/pseuds/kkeithkatt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro knows she has always loved Keith. Has loved every version of her, from the spitfire cadet to the war-torn leader of Voltron.</p><p>It's through every version of her that Shiro gets to fall in love, over and over, and learn more about Keith as she goes.</p><p> </p><p>"She nods and doesn’t take her eyes off the smooth expanse of Keith’s throat. “Does this one mean anything?”</p><p>“To the galra?” Keith says. “No. To me? Everything.”"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fem Sheith Works [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1315967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Femsheith Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It Lives In Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shiro notices the first time on a deserted planet full of flora and pollen.</p><p> </p><p>The air is warm. It’s not dry like the desert she is used to though, like the one she later came to call home (<em> theirs </em>). It’s wetter, though far from any semblance of humid, and clings to her skin like a damp cloth. There for only a second and then gone. Fleeting.</p><p> </p><p>Behind her Keith stands, body lean and wiry in a way Shiro feels hers has never been. Keith’s whole stance has an edge to it, sharp and poised for a fight no one wants to give. She’s been like that for months now, Shiro’s noticed (always notices when it’s her) but her glaring defensiveness has only heightened since the Marmora trials. It makes something ugly and quick rise in her and Shiro tries, once again, to keep it down.</p><p> </p><p>As if feeling her eyes on her, Keith turns her head and a frown mars her face, as it too has for months now. Shiro looks away.</p><p> </p><p>They haven’t talked about it, though not for a lack of trying on her part. Every moment seems jumbled and rushed though, like they’re fighting a clock none of them can see but can hear (they are). Shiro just wants to stop it, to take a hold of Keith’s face, and just tell her nothings changed, that she still sees her as her best friend, but Keith’s glares and hasty retreats always hold her tongue. She doesn’t want to hear it. Isn’t ready to.</p><p> </p><p>They’d both know it would be a lie anyway. Everything’s changed and she never wants to lie to the younger, never has, and so she lets Keith go, lets her retreat and hide, and she doesn’t stop her. Not yet.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro wonders which of them are more afraid. If she’ll regret not reaching out all those times.</p><p> </p><p>No one but Coran knows they’re out here, away from the castleship and its inhabitants. Shiro had asked him after breakfast, in hushed tones that drew more than one curious, lingering glance, and the man had looked up the coordinates for her. Handing them over with a small smile that teased the edges of sad, something she hopes Keith hadn’t seen.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro was tired of fighting for moments to talk, to understand, so she had made their own. Coran covers their absence with excuses Shiro is sure will be overly extended but she’s grateful nonetheless. And if the way Keith’s feet seem to lift just that bit higher, easier and less of a drag, Shiro thinks she does too.</p><p> </p><p>They’re in civvies, having shredded the Paladin armor in Black after double-checking the planet was indeed safe and free of any sentient beings. When Coran’s information proved true, Shiro had been quick to yank the chest plate off and to tug and toss the legs away. Keith, likewise, had followed suit, though in a more subdued, hesitant fashion. Like she was afraid Shiro or someone would suddenly attack them and she needed to be ready.</p><p> </p><p>The fact her bayard and Marmoran blade both stayed on her person is telling enough and it’s that galra knife with its faintly glowing crest that keeps drawing her eye.</p><p> </p><p>Not because of distrust or unease though, no. It’s the fact Keith has it strapped to her thigh, dark and lethal against pale, toned skin. She had been more than surprised to see her best friend in shorts, as it was no open secret Keith more than preferred her dark jeans. The light wash of them made the blade and its strap stand out even more, pressing against muscle Shiro can’t help but stare at.</p><p> </p><p>She aches to touch, to draw her hand over it, and the thought has her swallowing and looking away. </p><p> </p><p>But the rest of Keith is just as dangerous, as viciously enthralling, and so she doesn’t know where to keep her eyes at all tonight. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps to her other point of interest. For it’s not just the shorts Keith had deviated from but the short braid curved around her neck too.</p><p> </p><p>That was almost just as shocking to see falling out from Keith’s helmet. Shiro’s not sure she’s ever seen the girl sporting anything other than a ponytail, neck bare, and bangs fully frontward.</p><p> </p><p>She’s sure, between those two surprises, that her eyes are as wide as they feel.</p><p> </p><p>She also decides that between the two, the hair is the safer option to comment on. Keith must not know about Shiro’s not so subtle ogling of her legs. Absolutely not.</p><p> </p><p>“Your hair looks different today.” She tries for casual and perhaps she hit the mark a little too well for Keith tips her head to the side with a deeper frown, teeth biting into an already chapped lip. She’s been doing that too often too, Shiro notes. </p><p> </p><p>Keith shrugs like it’s not a big deal and maybe it isn’t for anyone else but them but Shiro knows better. “Kolivan’s been explaining some Galra traditions and customs to me.” The words are awkward and stilted like she’s pulling them through her teeth with a reluctant vengeance.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. She should have gone with the shorts.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” She says instead of backtracking because Shiro is no quitter, even if she didn’t want to address the elephant in the room (ship? Planet?) so quickly into their journey.</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s gives another tight shrug, her bony shoulders hunched together. It draws Shiro’s eyes to the new and still healing long scar on the joint of her neck and shoulder. Keith’s tank top does nothing to hide it or any shame she may feel and a hum of almost pride strikes up her front. She pushes it away. That’s not for her to feel.</p><p> </p><p>A lot of things aren’t hers to feel.</p><p> </p><p>“Just little things. There hasn’t been much time to really sit and talk. We’ve been busy. And I - well. Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Been hiding, </em>Shiro silently supplies. Keith runs from very little, even this, but that doesn’t make it any easier to face. Shiro aches, even more, to carry it with her.</p><p> </p><p>So she tries.</p><p> </p><p>“Like what?” And it’s easy for her to push curiosity into her words because, despite everything, she very much is. Curious. They know so very little about who they’re fighting, about the Galra and their beliefs and everything in between. It’s not something she’d ever thought to give to them. Few want to see the face of their monsters after all, but this is Keith’s history, Keith’s hidden life she knows nothing about, and so Shiro is eager to know. To listen.</p><p> </p><p>Keith thumbs the hilt of her knife, fingers scabbed and slow. “Like the hair. Apparently, before the galra home planet was destroyed, the galra had a lot of customs and traditions. The Blade remembers a lot of them since a lot of them had deserted the Empire early on. Hairstyles used to be very symbolic. A whole under language in a sense.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith coughs awkwardly. “Kolivan says it's important to remember these kinds of things. Remember who we were before Zarkon fucked us over."</p><p> </p><p>“That’s fascinating.” Shiro breathes because it is. She knows there are several civilizations on earth even where hair can truly mean something but from the way Keith speaks, the galra had taken it to a whole new level. “What’s yours mean then? Or Kolivan’s?”<br/>
<br/>
Keith hums and toys with one of the tiny braids looped in her hair. Shiro herself doesn’t know a whole lot about braiding. Rarely has her hair ever been truly long enough for them and even when she has the length, her fingers are too clumsy for it. But she likes the look of the ones Keith sports, with a solid simple braid running from the side of her head and back into the longer strands on the back where a messy bun is. On the opposite side of her head, she’s got thin, tiny braids trailing down towards her chin, also mixing into the free dark strands of her hair. Shiro knows from experience that it must have taken her forever to do and she quietly wonders where Keith managed to find enough tiny hair ties.</p><p> </p><p>The mice probably nicked some of Allura’s. Or maybe even Pidge’s, who has thin, finer, shorter hair.</p><p> </p><p>“Kolivan wears a single braid that loops around his throat to signify himself as a leader. He’s the commander of the Blades and his hair represents as such. Antok wears something similar under his hood. Only his is separated into two strands to show he’s second in command.” Her voice grows louder as she speaks, like the words are bringing Keith out of the meek shell she’s been hiding herself in. She tugs once more at the end of a braid. “Kolivan showed me this one. It says I’m a soldier, fighting in a current war.”</p><p> </p><p>“So the war with the empire.” Shiro guesses, even though it’s obvious, and Keith nods. “It’s about respect then.”</p><p> </p><p>A click of a tongue. “Sometimes.” Keith kicks a stone with her boot and together they watch as it skips over a tree root and into a bush, where a creature similar to a frog jumps out of. It’s a bright orange with translucent wings that barely flutter as it hops with short lunges. Beautiful and odd like most things in space have been.</p><p> </p><p>“Kolivan showed me another for more casual wear.” She gestures to her hair. “This one stays out of my face and is for the field though. But the other one is a bit more messy and free-flowing. Less knots. And all it stands for is that I’m unmated.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro’s feet hit a rock and she stumbles, reaching out wide with her hands as she turns and looks at Keith with bug eyes. “U-Unmated?”</p><p> </p><p>A blush stains pale cheeks and Keith bites them from the inside of her mouth as she peers back at Shiro through her lashes. The sun, like a vengeful god, casts gold upon her through the overhanging leaves.</p><p> </p><p>“Galra mate for life, you see. Dating is … somewhat rare for them. It’s more like how people used to court with chaperones and such. Only for galra there’s less “take mom with you to the movies” and more “no kissing until the tenth outing”.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro swallows thickly, eyes the giant yellow flowers on the horizon. “That’s. That’s intense.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith clicks her tongue and pops her lips as she releases her teeth from them. “Kinda, yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“You disagree?” Shiro asks because they’ve never really talked about it. Back at the Garrison, when Shiro had been with Addison and they had all hung out together often enough, it wasn’t uncommon for the subject of dating to come up. Especially given that they were a group of young, sexually repressed teenagers. Plus Matt, who was a horny abomination all on his own.</p><p> </p><p>Despite Shiro and Addison’s many, many attempts to get Keith to talk about it, she never spoke of any kind of crush. Hell, Shiro didn’t even know Keith’s sexuality. She had tried countless times to get Keith to go on a date with James, Matt, even Addison’s TA Rebecca, but not one had borne fruit or a reaction of any kind.</p><p> </p><p>But this? Perhaps a lead.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just,” Keith kicks another rock. “I wouldn’t want to waste my time dating, you know? I think it’d be nice. To know who’s meant for you and to stick with them always.”</p><p> </p><p>“But how will you know that they’re the right one? If you don’t look around?” Because even as smart as they were, it was inevitable for mistakes to be made. Shiro after all had thought, for a brief time, that Addison might be the one. Had thought of maybe buying a ring, one day. But now she knew better. And for the galra to only have one shot was a terrifying concept to her. What if they were wrong?</p><p> </p><p>Keith coughs into her fist and shakes her head. “I’d know.”</p><p> </p><p>“How?” Keith’s never even dated anybody, as far as Shiro knows.</p><p> </p><p>But her friend stays firm and just looks at Shiro with something hard in her eyes. “I just would.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The next time is in a dark, tiny room.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro’s sitting up in a bed, her back stiff and straight as she listens to the faint humming of the castle’s filtration system. Her arms are cold and bare, a heavy blanket pulled over her lap. Keith had wrapped it around her when they first came in here but Shiro’s since dropped it and she doesn’t have the will or energy to bring it back up around her.</p><p> </p><p>Keith sits at the end of the bed, her hand resting atop her crossed knee. The familiar sight of her red jacket and boots is soothing, the only thing that has been since Keith and Black pulled her out of that cold, dying ship. The weight of her gaze, so heavy and full, is the only thing keeping Shiro rooted to this moment.</p><p> </p><p>Her thoughts have been desperately trying to tug her back there, where her chest had felt tight at the low oxygen and her fingers had been so frozen she couldn’t feel them.</p><p> </p><p>She wiggles them now, under her blanket, and stares back out at nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you hungry?” Keith asks. It’s the first thing she’s said since they came in here. After her initial, panicked, relieved greeting, Keith has said very little. All through the halls, she had remained silent. Even through the long, careful motions of bathing Shiro, cupping warm water in her hands and pouring it down Shiro’s shoulders, her back. Scrubbing her bloody thigh clean carefully. Had been silent as she wrapped the same wound, even though it had already been cauterized.</p><p> </p><p>Her voice is the only other thing Shiro wants to hear right now. She’s glad Keith had kept the others away.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” She tells her. It’s been days since she’s last eaten and a distant part of her knows she should try for some soup right now, but it can wait till later. She just wants this moment, right here.</p><p> </p><p>She sees Keith nod through her bangs. They’ve grown much longer since the last time they’ve seen each other. All of her hair has. Before, it had barely scraped her shoulders, and now it flows down her back in chunks of dried curls, dirty.</p><p> </p><p>She looks at Keith’s hair for changes, wants to see if time has made her look different too, but Keith isn’t sporting her trademark ponytail for once.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she has her hair in a high bun, with a few loose strands framing her sharp face. Some loops are going through it, up to the bun, and the hair itself looks dull and flat. Like she hasn’t been taking care of it at all.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at the rest of Keith, the way her clothes hang a little looser and the tired set of her eyes, dark circles underneath, Shiro thinks she hasn’t been taking care of herself at all.</p><p> </p><p>No one has.</p><p> </p><p>“Your hair,” Shiro says, because she knows better than anyone Keith doesn’t want to be fussed over. Besides, Shiro recognizes the look of her. Sees it in herself and that echo of the girl in the desert shack. “It’s different.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith looks down at her folded legs, stretches her closed hand out, and looks at her palm. “Yes.” She says simply and Shiro looks over her again.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a new scar there too, right under her jaw. It’s thin, like a knife wound. She wonders if Keith got it in training or in the field. Maybe at the Blades, where Keith had already told her she started training.</p><p> </p><p>“Does it mean anything?” The memory of her trials flashes through Shiro’s eyes, brief and distant. Its edges are fuzzy and muddled, thick with confusion. She feels like she’s missing something.</p><p> </p><p>“Grief,” Keith tells her bluntly, the word frozen and numb. Emotionless and unapologetic in its honesty.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro wets her lips. The movement of her tongue feels too slow. She thinks of that desert shack again. Of an old, thin sofa and bright photographs with worn paper sketches beside them. Empty whiskey bottles on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” She says and Shiro lifts the blanket further over her lap. “You’ll have to take it out then.”<br/>
<br/>
Keith looks up, face twisted, and she doesn’t smile but something in her seems to soften.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” She breathes, quiet and equally loud in the room. “I suppose I do.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Shiro won’t remember this moment for many months after. Her heart hurts when she does.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She notices the next one just as she’s waking up. It’s over a year later and Keith’s hair is longer where Shiro’s is much shorter.</p><p> </p><p>Pale pink sunlight peeks in through the eyes of the Black Lion, soft and gentle and so warm on her eyes that she’s reluctant to even get out of bed. She slept what had been months within the astral plane, had felt like years upon years, but her body is beyond tired, even now. Altean magic it seems has just as many limitations as Terran medicine.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Open your eyes. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>In the corner of the bunk, Keith stands in her armor already. Shiro doesn’t remember seeing her heading to bed or even the shedding of layers into pajamas and she wonders if Keith even went to bed at all. But there’s hints of slumber there, pinched and being tucked away, the longer she looks over at her.</p><p> </p><p>Like the line pressed into her skin along her forehead, as if she had been pressed against something for too long. Perhaps the crate of medical supplies Shiro had spotted in the corner, where she now spots a bundled up ratty blanket. Or the slow drag of her arms as she lifts them, careful and tired but steady. Or the messy strands of dark, dark hair that Keith is attempting to tame.</p><p> </p><p>Her friend has never been one for vanity, never truly cared about the way she looks. But Shiro can only watch as deft fingers cross over her hair in a familiar, sure pattern, braiding it as simply as if she’s done it a hundred times. Keith seems lost in thought even as she does it, tongue peeking out and eyes distant as they stare downward. </p><p> </p><p>Shiro wonders what she sees when she’s looking away like this. Wonders if it has anything to do with the long scar freshly burned into her cheek.</p><p> </p><p>The scar <em> she </em> put there.</p><p> </p><p>Does she smell rich ozone and burning flesh like Shiro does? Does she hear the bending of metal as everything is melted away, beams falling and breaking and crashing all around them as Shiro single-handedly is used to destroy the world carefully holding them up?</p><p> </p><p>Does she see Shiro’s face, manic and pointed, as she grins while punching Keith under her jaw so hard the girl’s helmet flies off?</p><p> </p><p>Shiro eyes the dark bruise there now, carefully tucked under Keith’s chin with the way she’s got her head tilted, and has to swallow hard. And then, she takes actual note of the way Keith’s hair is curling.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re wearing your hair down again.” She blurts aloud because apparently being alive now means an endless line of her getting surprised and acting foolish over it.</p><p> </p><p>Keith smiles over at her, the turn of her lips foreign. It feels so odd, to see her like this. To see her at all. Within the consciousness of the black lion, there had been no sights to see other than the endless barren land of purple starlight. She hadn’t heard or smelt anything either and to touch the rocks beneath her feet had felt like waving through the air, only less somehow.</p><p> </p><p>To have the chance to see another thing, another person, Keith, feels like the greatest gift she’s ever received. And that’s including the Taylor Swift vinyl record Matt and Keith had gifted her for her 24th birthday.</p><p> </p><p>The Keith before her isn’t even the one she had left behind though. Shiro remembers so little from her clone, their memories still being slow to merge after Allura’s transfusion, but she can relate to their initial dumbfoundedness at seeing their oldest friend like this. She still blinks away the feeling every time her eyes land on Keith, chest tightening in a way Shiro has long since forgotten and long since attempted to ignore.</p><p> </p><p>It’s hard though when Keith looks and moves like she does now. Like the weight she’s carried all her life has finally settled. Shiro wants to ask if it’s because someone took it from her or if Keith is just that strong now, that she no longer struggles to hold it?</p><p> </p><p>Grey eyes track the muscle of Keith’s arm where it bulges out a little. She’s still braiding her hair.</p><p> </p><p>In all the years that Shiro has known her, she’s never once seen Keith wear her hair down. The younger girl is remarkably loyal to low ponytails or obscenely high messy buns. She’s the most low maintenance person Shiro has ever met because even Pidge likes to pin stray hairs down. Keith had never cared though and completely ignored barrettes. If it didn’t stay back, fitted with her hair tie, then it was a lost cause.</p><p> </p><p>Even when the Garrison had hosted a military ball Keith’s third winter, the girl hadn’t let it fall like the rest of her peers. No, she had gone in with a somewhat tamed ponytail, only marginally higher than usual. She hadn’t even worn a dress, opting to wear the significantly less popular choice amongst the girls of dress uniforms. And then left after twenty minutes.</p><p> </p><p>So to see her now, black hair curved over her shoulder in easy waves, is doing something funny to Shiro. And she likes it. She likes it a <em> lot </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never seen you wear it down,” She continues, because for some reason this feels important. There’s so many things she could be pressing for, so much for them to talk about, but this? This is driving something hungry inside of her.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro’s tired of starving those feelings.</p><p> </p><p>Keith hums noncommittally, typing off the end of her braid as she moves on to make another one. From her spot on the lone bed, Shiro can see how there’s one thick braid, woven from the ends of Keith’s crown, cascading down her back. To pair it, Keith’s started to loop thin, tight braids on the side of her head and bringing them into the main one, tucking them over and under. She’s started on the other side, the far side Shiro can’t see very well, and it looks overwhelmingly complicated.</p><p> </p><p>As Keith ties off another, sliding the end under, she turns and shoots Shiro a quick smile. She can’t help but notice the tired tilt of it weighing her mouth down and Shiro feels a press of guilt in her chest.</p><p> </p><p>Was Keith tired because she had given Shiro the only bed, opting to sleep on the hard metal floor? Or was she tired because they had been flying for what seems like endless days? Or was the fight still pulling on her muscles and thoughts like it was Shiro’s?</p><p> </p><p>“In the quantum abyss, Krolia showed me a lot of traditional hairstyles.” Keith ties off another and with that, she seems to be done as she fully turns around to face Shiro. “Before Zarkon led to the fall of Daibazzel, the Galra held all sorts of customs. Holidays and beliefs. They’re next to nonexistent amongst the empire, but the Blade held onto most of them. Krolia says Kolivan’s parents had been part of the earliest of Marmora and he was raised on those beliefs. So he does his best to carry them on, make sure the Blade remembers where we come from.” Keith kneels down by Shiro’s feet and pulls a bag out from under the bed, one Shiro hadn’t even known was there. She unzips it quickly, pulling out several pieces of clothes and a smaller bag.</p><p> </p><p>“You might remember that Kolivan taught me some things, while I was training with them,” Shiro remembers that last braid, after her trials. Back when Keith could barely talk about being a galra, where the words come easy now. But even that braid had been tight and pulled as far up as Keith could manage it. “But Krolia taught me more. There was a lot of time on the space whale. Little to do. Braiding was one of the first things she taught me. I think it was more for her than me. She found it calming and her hair is barely long enough for any of the common ones.”</p><p> </p><p>“And this one?” Shiro asks and Keith lets her toy with the tied-off end, strands curling.</p><p> </p><p>She helps Shiro into a pair of loose grey sweatpants and pulls the strings of them tight. “Another one of the warrior braids. The galra are a fighting nation, so they have several warriors styles, but this one specifically recognizes me as a warrior of great importance.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro swallows and looks away. “The Black Paladin.”</p><p> </p><p>But Keith shakes her head, something hard in her eye. “No. <em> You’re </em> the Black Paladin. The braid is because I’m a paladin yes but not because of who’s Lion I’m piloting.”</p><p> </p><p>“Keith- ” Shiro starts but the younger shakes her head and stands.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re still our paladin, Shiro.” She says, mouth hard. “Still Blacks. And you always will be.” And before Shiro can offer up any kind of argument, Keith turns on her heel and marches off to the cockpit, thick braid swinging across her back.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The braids stick.</p><p> </p><p>Keith doesn’t wear them all the time, still true to her roots with low ponytails making a constant appearance, but they’re there enough that Shiro notices every single one of them and she can’t help but count the loops and watch the way Keith strings them together.</p><p> </p><p>Today is one of those special days. They’re back on earth, where the dust is settling and all of the ships are being geared up and bolts tightened in preparation for the final battle with Sendak.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro’s jaw hurts from her constant clenching, knuckles popping with how hard she holds them together. It feels like that first year in space, when Voltron had been nothing to her and all she had known was the cold press of metal against her wrists and the quick swipe of a dull blade.</p><p> </p><p>Her hands are clean but even now she can feel the stains of blood on them, thick and heavy and never gone. Their names forever marring her skin.</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s forgone her Garrison uniform for civilian clothes, a sight that’s become even more rarer than it had already been to begin with. Instead of her usual grey and oranges (a sight that still makes Shiro glare at the blatant undermining the Garrison is doing) or the Paladin armor, Keith’s got on what has to be her tightest pair of skinny jeans. True to her roots, she’s paired it with a red t-shirt and a dark bomber jacket, heavy leather boots clapping against the floor as she walks.</p><p> </p><p>But even all that, it’s the braided buns Keith’s got that draws Shiro’s eye first. They’re reminiscent of that old Star Wars movie, with the three buns that Rey had. Only Keith’s somehow looped in a braid at the bottom of each of them.</p><p> </p><p>Each of them bounce a little with her steps and as Keith’s face breaks out into an unprompted grin, Shiro feels one of her stretching across her face, warm and addictive.</p><p> </p><p>“Shiro!” The girl waves, as if Shiro hasn’t already noticed her. As if Shiro could ever miss Keith entering a room, even for a second.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” she greets as soon as the other slides up next to her, shoulders bumping. Shiro waves a hand at her, white metal fingers dancing. “And this one?”</p><p> </p><p>It had become a habit between the two of them, for Shiro to ask Keith what each of her new, complicated styles meant. She never wanted Keith to feel ashamed of her culture, to feel like she couldn’t share everything with her.</p><p> </p><p>Her smile doesn’t dim, only seems to brighten as her eyes gleam. “Upcoming victory.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro barely withholds a snort. “That confident, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>An eyebrow raises. “In your plan? Always.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro’s boot scuffs against the hard floor as they walk down the hall. “I’m almost surprised the galra have a style for that.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith chuckles and easily loops her hand around Shiro’s elbow. Shiro tries not to trip at the surprise contact, her feet and heart just stuttering that bit faster.</p><p> </p><p>“Fighting culture remember? Of course we do.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro nods wisely. “Right. Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>“And where are you taking us?” Shiro asks her.</p><p> </p><p>“We,” Keith motions between them. “Are going to that old diner you love.”</p><p> </p><p>That has her interest. “The one on eighth street?” She would have thought the place was destroyed or at least out of bounds.</p><p> </p><p>Keith grins. “Well, she’s actually stationed here. Sendak’s forces took it down but the Garrison managed to get Miss Adams to safety. Kinkaid told me she’s been cooking in that old hangar of the west wing.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a relief to hear that the old Miss Adams had made it through the invasion. Shiro has few people to personally worry about on earth, but she’s spared more than a single thought to the elderly restaurant owner and cook. Miss Adams had been an ear for her during her break up with Addison and through several late nights panics over essays. For years, it had been her gentle hands that kept Shiro’s nerves and grit together, when Shiro herself hadn’t been able to.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, then lead the way, Paladin.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s grin only gets brighter.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Shiro gets the news that Keith’s awake, she’s shoving a clipboard into Iverson’s hands and running down the Garrison’s halls towards the medical wing before she can even think to yell an excuse. She figures Iverson has probably already figured it out anyhow.</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s sitting up in bed, struggling to tie her hair back with a purple scrunchie Shiro vaguely recognizes as Romelle’s. There’s gauze wrapped around her forehead still, though it looks like someone might have changed it, and when the door hits the wall, Keith looks up with wide eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro’s crossing the room and pulling her friend gently into a hug before either of them can say a greeting.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re awake!” She half yells, somewhat aware that Keith has a head injury and probably a headache at the very least.</p><p> </p><p>Small hands loop around Shiro’s middle, pulling her closer. A chuckle is pressed against her breast, a nose tucked into her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m awake.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro doesn’t dare to pull back. It feels like she hasn’t touched Keith in days and her hands are starved to trace over pale skin and sun-kissed freckles. To hear her voice now, low and croaky from sleep, is the best song.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re were worried.” She says but she knows Keith hears what she really means, that I barely hidden within.<em> I was worried. </em>“When I pulled you out of Black-“</p><p> </p><p>Hands tug on her shirt, pushing Shiro back just enough for Keith to slide her hands up, cupping Shiro’s face. “Hey,” she breathes softly. “I’m okay. You did good. We’re safe now.”</p><p> </p><p>She swallows, eyes wet and mouth suddenly too tight for her to breathe. Her arms, likewise, feel like they’re trapped in a too small shirt. The buttons on her outer coat feel strained.</p><p> </p><p>Keith squeezes her cheeks together, just a tad, and throws her a gentle smile. It’s too soft on her face, nothing like the rest of her, and it makes something click because suddenly Shiro feels like the lightest person in the universe.</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s cut all her strings free.</p><p> </p><p>“I could’ve lost you,” She says instead into Keith’s hair. The familiar scent of antiseptic fills her nose, clinging to Keith’s skin and hair as a heavy reminder of just how long she’s been stuck in this damn hospital bed. Shiro immediately hates it.</p><p> </p><p>Keith hums and runs her thumb under Shiro’s eye. “But you didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro doesn’t say anything because at the end of it, Keith is right and that’s what she needs to focus on. So instead she lifts a hand and grips Keith’s wrist, right where the forgotten scrunchie is looped now.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you need help?” She asks. “With your hair?”</p><p> </p><p>She can see Keith swallow, feels her pulse beneath cool fingers. “Sure.” She says too casually.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro tries hard not to move too fast, to look too eager as she pulls the scrunchie off a rail thin wrist. Keith angles her shoulder around, giving Shiro just enough room to clumsily gather her hair up.</p><p> </p><p>“What would you like?” Keith’s neck is warm under her hands and she aches to touch it, to trail her fingers down and further over her spine, beneath the ugly hospital top.</p><p> </p><p>“Just a simple braid will do. Nothing fancy.” She says and Shiro nods.</p><p> </p><p>She’s never done this before, at least not for Keith. Addison had asked often enough that Shiro knows what to do, but this feels different. More special. And her fingers shake as she slides hair over and under into what has to be the messiest braid Shiro’s ever seen. It’s not pretty, barely holds Keith’s hair together at all, but when she ties it off, Keith says nothing. Just runs her fingers over the uneven ridges.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Shiro.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods and doesn’t take her eyes off the smooth expanse of Keith’s throat. “Does this one mean anything?”</p><p> </p><p>“To the galra?” Keith says. “No. To me? Everything.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Keith’s hair is completely down when Shiro visits her in her shack.</p><p> </p><p>The dust of the war is settling, space ships cooling in their hangers, and armor being traded for civvies. Shiro’s replaced her greys and chunky black boots for worn sandals and short shorts. Sunglasses push her white hair out of her face, the white bob barely long enough to be held back at all.</p><p> </p><p>Keith stands in her doorway, very torn jeans pulled over long legs and a white crop top thrown on like an afterthought. Shiro can see her black bra through the cotton, lacy and thin. She’s not wearing shoes and there isn’t a hair tie in sight.</p><p> </p><p>“No braids today?” Shiro asks, smiling as Keith invites her in, stepping back. She steps through the cracked doorway, the weather-worn door closing softly behind them. The shack is dirty, dust and sand and dirt over what seems to be every inch, but Shiro’s impressed that the whole thing is even standing. Looks like even a war couldn’t put a Kogane relic down. She isn’t surprised.</p><p> </p><p>Keith grins, all teeth. “Felt like doing something different today.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a special day. The coalition has declared victory over Honerva and the manipulated altean colony almost a month ago and to celebrate, the Garrison was hosting a sort of party. Shiro knows she should be heading there now, dressed in her finest clothes that Sam and Colleen had painstakingly looked for her. But Shiro doesn’t feel like celebrating, has no interest in too stiff smiles and short small talk.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t think a party is what anyone wants.</p><p> </p><p>So, while she knows the rest of the paladins are there, in fancy dresses and personally tailored suits, she came here.</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s the only other one that seems to understand the feeling she’s holding and even if the paladin had gone to the party, Shiro would have followed her. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I like it.” Shiro tells her and she feels the heat on her face, knows she’s blushing and giving it all away, but for the first time, she doesn’t care. She wants her to see. To understand. After everything, Shiro feels like they deserve this.</p><p> </p><p>She’s tired of denying what she wants.</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s smile is easy and small, satisfied and honest like the rest of her always is. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” Keith leads her past the dirt and into her kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>Shiro vaguely remembers it the last time she was here, when it was cleaner and their bodies were smaller and less scarred. She walks past old memories of sheet covered windows and conspiracy boards and into clean countertops and a table that had once held her steaming cup of coffee.</p><p> </p><p>The kitchen is the only place in the shack that’s clean.</p><p> </p><p>Keith must see the question on her face for she’s quick to explain. “Hunk and mom came over the other day.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” honestly that explains enough. There’s no way Hunk would have left this place without having made the kitchen spotless. “Did he bring food too?”</p><p> </p><p>Keith grins again. “You know it. Mom did too, actually. I think she’s starting to mother hen me, now that she’s not worried I’ll die any second.”</p><p> </p><p>That’s definitely not a thought Shiro wants to ever consider. So she doesn’t entertain it for even a second. “So, are our plans for the day to clean the rest of this place up?” It certainly needs it and Shiro doesn’t mind doing such a mundane task. It might even be relaxing.</p><p> </p><p>But Keith shakes her head and opens up her fridge. “Nope,” She pops the p. Inside, Keith has a picnic basket and she pulls that out, laughing at the bemused look Shiro shoots her.</p><p> </p><p>“Where did you even get that?”</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s face blanks. “I have my sources.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro laughs. “Uh-huh. Keep your secrets.”<br/>
<br/>
“I will.” She declares. “As for plans, we’re going to the park.”</p><p> </p><p>She quirks an eyebrow. “There’s a park near here?” It’s been years since Shiro’s truly been on earth, but even with all that time, she doesn’t think she’s ever heard of a park being anywhere remotely close to the Garrison. A military space academy doesn’t inspire the need for one after all.</p><p> </p><p>Keith shakes her head, black waves dancing with the motion. “No. But there is one about an hour out. I checked and it’s still there.”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t have a car.” Shiro points out because there’s clearly a fault here.</p><p> </p><p>She gets a smirk thrown at her for it. “We don’t need one.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith grabs at Shiro’s hand and the older woman lets her twine their fingers together. Keith’s hand is warm in her own, skin pressed against constantly cool white metal, and Shiro can only grin as she’s pulled back outside. Keith doesn’t bother locking her door behind her, just hastily grabs a pair of boots and continues to tug Shiro around the side of the shack, where a hoverbike rests.</p><p> </p><p>It’s shiny and clearly Garrison made.</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t get them to rent me out two,” Keith says breathlessly. “So we’ll have to share. But I figured we should fly one. For old times sake.”</p><p> </p><p>She knows the face she’s making is far too fond to be subtle but Shiro can’t help it as she looks down at her companion. “It’s perfect. We’ll have to buy our own soon.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith tosses her the keys. “I still have pa’s,” She says, throwing a leg over the bike, leaving enough room for Shiro in front of her. The basket rests in her elbow. “But it needs some repairs first.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro boards the bike herself and speaks around the butterflies threatening to break through her as Keith wraps her hands around her waist. The handle of the basket digs into her skin lightly. “Maybe I’ll buy a used one then. Cheaper and we can work on it together. Like old times.”</p><p> </p><p>A grin is pressed into her back. “That’d be great. It’s a date, Captain.”</p><p> </p><p>The butterflies flutter faster. “Directions?” She asks and Keith snuggles closer, mouth close enough to her ear that Shiro can hear easily enough over the engine.</p><p> </p><p>It’s going to be a long ride.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Keith’s hair is an absolute mess when they dismount the bike and Shiro laughs loudly at her when she gets her first look. But Keith doesn’t even roll her eyes, just cards her fingers through her windswept hair and tugs it around. Somehow, with minimal effort, she manages to make it look purposely messy instead of the disaster it was just a moment ago and Shiro is suitably impressed and envious.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” She points before Keith can even say anything and the girl holds her hands up, smirk prominent.</p><p> </p><p>She steps into Shiro’s space, dropping the basket by their feet so she can rest her palms on Shiro’s shoulders. “Want some help with yours?”</p><p> </p><p>She can feel the odd angles of her own hair, the way the band has fallen dangerously low, and so Shiro nods. “Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith hums contently, pulling her hair tie the little distance left, tugging it onto her wrist with a snap. As she pushes pale strands around, the wind blows and crickets chirp.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t really a park,” Shiro says when her nerves begin to get the best of her. If braiding Keith’s hair in the hospital had felt intimate, this is ten times worse.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” She gets in reply. “It’s a hiking and camping spot technically.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith finishes up and takes a single step back, watching as Shiro lifts a hand to run her fingers over the braid she’s put on either side of her head. It’s neat and simple, keeping the worst of it out of Shiro’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” She remembers and as predicted, Keith waves her off.</p><p> </p><p>She bends and picks up their basket. “Come on,” Keith says, turning on her heel and walking towards their left, where Shiro can faintly see the bend of a lake. The hill their on is too low sided for her to have a proper look.</p><p> </p><p>She follows.</p><p> </p><p>Keith leads them to a grassy field, where Shiro can get a full view of the small lake they’ve come to. No one else is here and so Keith freely spreads their blanket out wide, stretching her legs out and then behind her, over the grass, when she’s done.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro quickly joins her, though she firmly keeps her legs on the blanket; Grass is way too itchy in her opinion. As Keith slips her shoes off, never a fan, Shiro pulls her sunglasses down and off her face, tossing them to the side.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m starving,” She states after a beat. Honestly, it’s getting well into the afternoon now and Shiro has had next to nothing to eat. She vaguely recalls the iced coffee she bought for breakfast but other than that, she’s had nothing. Not even a snack.</p><p> </p><p>Keith chuckles. “Good thing we have this.” She pulls the picnic basket close, straightening her body back out and up so she’s sitting up. Her feet stay stretched out though and in the grass. A bee buzzes by them, fat and happy.</p><p> </p><p>She opens up their basket and begins to pull containers out that have happy yellow sticky notes attached to them. Krolia’s familiar, blocky handwriting scrawled across them makes Shiro smile faintly. When she opens them, it’s food Shiro doesn’t recognize. Definitely not earth-based.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this?” She asks as Keith hands her an empty tupperware and a set of utensils.</p><p> </p><p>“While earth has its own form of a victory party, this is the Galra’s,” Keith says as she pulls out some spoons and plops them into the filled bowls. They’re serving themselves and Shiro, who is perhaps the biggest fan of buffets, is beyond pleased.</p><p> </p><p>“When Krolia came to visit, she helped me make all of this.” Keith gestures to the bowls with another spoon. “For the Galra, battles and victory are common. But as a warrior nation, they also acknowledge loss. They don’t just honor their wins.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do they eat this for mourning then?” Shiro asks as she looks over some sort of pasta dish. The noodles are a dusty orange with some soft, green stuff mixed in with them and something vaguely like cheese topping it.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Keith corrects as she begins to spoon some food into her own bowl. Shiro follows suit, uncertainty making her slower to do so. “Those are different dishes.”</p><p> </p><p>She points at the pasta dish. “That’s guevina. Kolivan always had it available in the mess hall after a Blade fell in a mission. It honors the fallen soldiers.” Keith then points at what is definitely a vegetable. “This is like a squash. I don’t remember the name but it’s kind of sweet. It honors endurance, gives us the strength we used up in the fighting. Very healthy in a galra diet.” She then points at a purple meat that kind of looks like pulled pork. “This is from a Rajdeiha. It’s a mammal that’s extremely difficult to kill. Very hearty. This honors our perseverance after a long fight.”</p><p> </p><p>War was certainly long. Especially one that lasted several, several centuries.</p><p> </p><p>Keith then pulls another container out of her basket. When she removes the lid, Shiro can see a pale pudding. “This is made from the pruyt fruit. It’s the desert galra eat when they win.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you eat if you lose?” Shiro asks her, eyeing the pudding. It kind of resembles apple pudding and Shiro, who’s only had that once, is eager to try it.</p><p> </p><p>“A cake. Yajeti. It’s kind of bitter.” Keith tells her. “Kolivan brought some over after that battle with Zarkon.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The one you died in. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She pushes the guevina around with her fork, making some room in her bowl for the vegetable thing.</p><p> </p><p>Keith then pulls out two glass bottles. Shiro can tell that whatever it is has the same consistency and color as a red wine and she carefully takes the glass handed to her.</p><p> </p><p>“Luhm.” Keith declares. “Means star in galran. Non-alcoholic. Rich. It’s derived from a flower.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s it for?”</p><p> </p><p>Keith takes her first bite, eating the vegetables. “Healing. My mom says the galra believe the dead become one with the stars and so after especially difficult times, be it war or death or sickness, they drink luhm to bring one peace. To remind you that in the end, we are all the same.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“All just cosmic dust.” Shiro echoes, thinking of that time, long ago, on Olkari.</p><p> </p><p>Keith tips her glass towards her in a mock cheer. Her bangs have fallen into her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Enough history,” Keith says after a moment of silence. She gives Shiro a look. “How’s it taste?”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro, who had been steadily eating a little bit of everything, thinks over her words while pushing her fork through her food.</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” She settles with. “I really like the pasta.”<br/>
<br/>
Keith flashes a grin. “You were always a carb fanatic.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs. “My doctor always yelled at me for it too.”<br/>
<br/>
Keith winks over her glass. “I won’t tell anyone.”<br/>
<br/>
“Much appreciated.” She snips back. “Not sure how I feel about this though.” She points at the vegetable.</p><p> </p><p>A snort is her reply. “Of course you’d hate it, Ms. I-Only-Eat-Sweets.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t say I hate it!” She protests. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. “And I eat more than just sweets!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “You have carbs too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ha-ha,” Shiro rolls her eyes over Keith’s teasing laughter. “I didn’t get this body eating grains and desserts, Keith.” She informs her friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Keith purrs, leaning forward with eyes suspiciously pointed and yellow as they drag down Shiro’s frame. “I’m aware of <em> that </em>, Captain Shirogane.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro shoves a mouthful of pudding into her mouth before she can reply with something stupid.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not used to it, Keith’s blatant flirting. It’s something new between them, since the official end of the war. For the both of them, it had felt like a bell had rung. As if that, now that everything was beginning to return to a safe normal they could finally breathe and let themselves . . . feel. Shiro feels looser than she has in a while, like nothing is holding her back anymore. No real expectations or fears. And she knows Keith feels the same.</p><p> </p><p>She puts her fork down, closes the lid over her now empty tupperware, and looks at Keith across from her, whose face is relaxed in the desert sun. “What’s next, Black Paladin?”</p><p> </p><p>Keith hums something happy and closes her own container, bending forward to box up the rest of it. Shiro helps her put it all away into the picnic basket again, the summer sun warming their skin.</p><p> </p><p>“We can leave this,” She jabs the basket “with the bike. And <em> we </em> can go on a hike.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro looks around them, at the small lake to their left and the gathering of trees on the right. “This place doesn’t look very big.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s not,” Keith agrees, closing their basket and standing with a swipe down her thighs. Shiro joins her, knees popping. “But there’s a small waterfall at the end of one of the trails that I want to see.”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles. “Lead the way then.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After leaving their basket behind, Keith takes them down a thin, gravel path lined with thin, tall trees and giant, moss covered rocks. Shiro can hear the fluttering of birds amongst the branches and the buzzing of bugs passing them by as their footsteps echo against tiny, grey rocks. Keith doesn’t reach out for her hand this time and so she keeps shooting looks at it, eager and wanting.</p><p> </p><p><em>Why not?</em> She asks herself and before the bravado can fade, Shiro reaches out and grasps her palm.</p><p> </p><p>Keith simply links their fingers, sliding hers through easily.</p><p> </p><p>“Colleen recommended this place.” She tells her and Shiro frowns.</p><p> </p><p>“But Colleen bought me a dress for the gala?”</p><p> </p><p>The dark-haired girl shoots her a grin. “Sam insisted. Colleen told me she’d give it to Allura. Apparently you’re similar sizes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” She wouldn’t want the Holts to waste their money. “How’d she know about this place?” Because despite the gravel, the path they were walking on wasn’t exactly commercial. Shiro hadn’t seen any tourist signs on the drive over either.</p><p> </p><p>“Colleen lived in this area when she was younger. Her family came up here all the time.” Keith says, swinging their hands as she steps over a fallen tree. “It’s a bit of a local hotspot. Still a sort of secret though. Not that many people come up here anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t imagine why,” Shiro replies as she too steps over the tree. Some weeds brush against her ankle. “It’s beautiful.”<br/>
<br/>
And it is. Even though the forest around them is small, Shiro still loves the press of greens and warm browns. She’s always loved being outside, ever since she was a teenager. When she was younger and her illness had been too strong, her grandparents hadn’t allowed her to be out much, their fear of her getting hurt or sick too strong to risk it. When she was 14 though and the disease had receded, an apparent success in her treatment plan, she had been allowed to venture out more. And Shiro had taken to it eagerly and with a heavy vengeance.</p><p> </p><p>She remembers those years fondly. Trips to local parks and hiking trails with her friends. Fishing trips with her grandfather and constant begging to horticulture gardens with her grandmother. They had even taken her water rafting and to the Grand Canyon. And when her disease had come back, and stronger, years later at the start of her career with the Garrison, Shiro hadn’t been able to fully retreat from her love for the outdoors. Those hoverbike rides in the desert had been everything to her and like now, Keith had had no qualms in sating her need.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait till we get to the end,” Keith promised.</p><p> </p><p>They walked for a moment in silence, content in listening to the sounds around them, before Shiro broke it again.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think we’re missing anything at the party?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>She gets a laugh out of Keith. “You kidding me? Lance is probably already drunk.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro snorts and squeezes Keith’s hand back. It’s a rush to feel her like this. To have her so close that she can smell the faint scent of Keith’s perfume. “I don’t know, he’s always pretty amusing.”</p><p> </p><p>“More like stupid.” Keith quips and she laughs. “He’s probably gonna run into Kolivan again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh god,” Shiro chuckled. “Do you think Kolivan will hit him this time?”<br/>
<br/>
Last time, when the Atlas had hosted a brief get together before launch, the Blades had been invited. They had been on earth at the time, though only a small number of them like Kolivan and Krolia had actually shown up. And true to human fashion, drinks had been served, which Lance had eagerly partaken in.</p><p> </p><p>But the boy was a terrible lightweight and within the first hour, he had been stumbling into people, stepping on their toes and loudly singing in their ears. Hunk had tried pulling him away, fussing and whispering into his ear, but Pidge had egged him on with more drinks. Shiro still isn’t sure where she had gotten them, especially since she had been forbidden by her parents from drinking them at all.</p><p> </p><p>So with far too many drinks at him, Lance had taken a wide loop around the room and ran smack dab into Kolivan’s chest. The significantly taller, wider galra had looked the boy so coldly that Shiro herself had been terrified, and before any one of them could apologize, Krolia was pushing Lance aside with an equally cold, flat stare that Shiro instantly recognized as one of Keith’s.</p><p> </p><p>Honestly, Shiro wasn’t sure who was more likely to hit the younger paladin: Kolivan or Krolia. Both had inherited Keith’s slight distaste for the boy’s shenanigans it seems.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope so,” Keith broke through her reminiscing.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not nice,” Shiro scolded her, though a smile was ruining the attempt.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not nice,” quipped Keith.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro smiled at her and nudged her shoulder, swinging their joined hands. “I think you’re pretty nice.”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts. “I’m only nice to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro shakes her head, because this is a subject she is wholeheartedly invested in. Praising and defending Keith has been her favorite topic since she met the girl. “That’s not true. You brought Romelle homemade brownies yesterday just because you “were thinking of her”.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith blushes and looks away. “That’s different. We’re like sisters and she was having a bad day.” She mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro hums unconvincingly. “Sure. But what about on Monday when you gave Pidge that book you overheard her raving about wanting?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“It was laying around so I grabbed it.” Keith waved off.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a new release.”</p><p> </p><p>“So?”<br/>
<br/>
Shiro's smile only broadens. “You cooked with Hunk last weekend.”<br/>
<br/>
“He asked for help!” Keith protested.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, but you hate cooking.” Shiro pointed out and Keith’s mouth tipped into a stubborn little pout. “And you went clothes shopping with Lance and Allura.”</p><p> </p><p>“Friends hang out with each other, Shiro,” Keith says as if Shiro is an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>“Fair,” She allows. “But we both know you’d rather give up your Marmora blade than go shopping for <em> clothes </em>.” Keith’s insanely practical and she hates nothing more than going out for new clothes, something she sees as a frivolous activity., Especially when no one actually buys anything and just “browses” for hours on end.</p><p> </p><p>Keith rolls her eyes and Shiro knows she’s won then. “Whatever.”</p><p> </p><p>“And,” Shiro drawls, pulling Keith closer so they’re tucked into each other's side, skin hot against her own. “You’re <em> always </em> nice to me. You brought me coffee to yesterday’s meeting. Made me that cheesecake I had been whining for. Brought me <em> here </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Keith’s blush is pretty on her cheeks and Shiro wants so badly to kiss it. “You’re different. You’re <em> Shiro </em>.” Her blush deepens.</p><p> </p><p>She just smiles in return. “And you’re my Keith.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>They make it to the end of the trail about twenty minutes later. A thin layer of sweat covers her thanks to the heat and Shiro’s had to smack away more than one mosquito but the sight is worth it.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a little waterbody hidden and tucked away at what Shiro thinks is the center of the forest, made from the small waterfall before them. She doesn’t see any fish in its depths but Shiro still happily laughs as they step over giant rocks and shallow water beds to get to the water’s bank.</p><p> </p><p>Keith takes off her shoes, mimes Shiro to do the same, and she yells a laugh as she walks into the icy cold water. Rocks dig into their feet, smooth and hard, and as they take a few steps, the water laps up towards the bottom of their knees.</p><p> </p><p>The waterfall fills her ears and Shiro looks up at it, where it rushes from a break high above them. She can see the top of some trees behind it somewhere and the sun continues to wave down at them.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s beautiful,” She echoes because even though this place is small, it feels like a secret world of their own. Pretty and calm and exactly what she’s been needing.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Keith echoes, voice quiet. “Sure is.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro turns her head and Keith is looking back at her.</p><p> </p><p>She has seen this exact face a million times, both in reality and her dreams. </p><p> </p><p>Remembers the first time, when they had crashed on that grey rock planet full of geysers and large-toothed reptiles. Remembers Keith looking at her like this over the soft glow of the fire, her side burning with poisoned magic.</p><p> </p><p>Remembers it in the night, the two of them in the training room, giggling and cursing as Keith tried to show her the steps of a traditional galran dance Regris had shown her. Shiro had kept stepping on her feet, but Keith only looked at her with a new sense of patience and these same eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Remembers it in the purple haze of clashing swords and twisted metal. Yellow had marred her vision and a magenta glow blurring Keith’s edges raw. A buzz had filled <em> her, their </em> ears and she had pressed down, face too hot and sticky and Keith had looked up at her and screamed brokenly, desperately through it all. <em> I love you. </em></p><p> </p><p>Remembers in a faraway dream, after it all, when Keith had been gasping up volcanic ash, lungs full, her hair sweaty and free of it’s broken tie. Remembers what she had wanted to do, in that hospital room after, surrounded by all their friends. She had done it in her dream, had pressed Keith’s dirty cheeks in her palms and kissed the rest of her breaths away until a medic shooed her off.</p><p> </p><p>So she allows herself that now, surrounded by the trees and rushing of water. She brushes Keith’s hair back, tucks it behind a pierced ear, and Keith lets her <em> (only, ever, always her). </em> She pulls her close, watches through half-lidded eyes as Keith tilts her head and breathes Shiro in, and then there’s just the press of her lips against Shiro’s own, and nothing else matters.</p><p> </p><p>Her heart is so loud in her ear, Keith’s perfume strong in her nose, and she can feel every inch of Keith’s starlit soul-touching her own. Everywhere burns and she presses closer, hungers for more of this.</p><p> </p><p>She hopes to remember this time too, forever.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Keith’s naked skin is hot pressed along a line down Shiro’s back as they lay in bed together. Sunlight shadows over her closed eyes and as she wakes up, Shiro’s ears filter in the soft notes of galra music playing from the radio on their dresser. They must have left it on through the night, she thinks, as string instrumentals break through their peaceful bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a chore, to push the covers back and leave the safe, warm comfort of Keith’s arms. She slides her legs over the side of their bed, yawning and blinking the sleep away. The floor, unlike the rest of the room, is freezing to the touch and has her flinching as she stands.</p><p> </p><p>As much as she wishes to stay, Shiro knows she has work to get to. And she can’t just call out for a personal day. Again.</p><p> </p><p>Kosmo huffs at her feet, his breath lighting over her toes, bringing a smile to her face as she walks into the kitchen and gets the coffee pot ready. Keith will be waking soon and wanting caffeine, like every morning.</p><p> </p><p>Walking back into their room, where Keith is snuggled into her pillow now, black hair spread across pale sheets, recent hints of purple catching at the angle, Shiro steps into their bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>She can hear the radio from in here still, as a female galran’s voice begins to sing out. Shiro quietly joins her, recognizing the song as one of Krolia’s favorites, and brushes her hair back before she brushes her teeth.</p><p> </p><p>It’s as she’s attempting to pull her hair back into a high bun that Keith steps into the room.</p><p> </p><p>A kiss is pressed to the back of her throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Allow me?” Keith asks and Shiro smiles back at her, reaching behind to press a kiss to chapped lips. The morning sun bleeds through their curtains, painting the both of them peach. Shiro hadn’t bothered to flick on any lights.</p><p> </p><p>She sets her hairbrush down. “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>In the mirror, Shiro watches their reflection. Watches a sleepy-eyed Keith take careful handfuls of her hair and separate them into equal parts. Slowly, Keith begins to pull and guide her hair through loops and ties Shiro can’t see but can only feel. She watches the small knit in Keith’s face between her eyes as she stares down at her work like she’s being extra thoughtful in the placement of things.</p><p> </p><p>“Plans for today?” Keith asks her as she continues. Shiro reaches into their drawer and pulls out a hair tie. Keith shakes her head at it.</p><p> </p><p>“I have a meeting this morning with the Engineering department. They want to redo some parts of Atlas before our next take off.” Shiro says, putting the tie back with a bit of confusion. “After that, nothing til 4. I’m giving an “intergalactic politics” seminar for the officer class.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith chuckles above her, brushes her fingertips across Shiro’s scalp like she knows she likes. “Better you than me.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro quirks a smirk. “Honey, we both know I do all the talking on our diplomacy trips.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith growls playfully. “I’m not a politician, dear.” She drawls the last word, the faint southern accent making Shiro’s throat tighten up. She’s never had a thing for accents, much less country ones, until she met Keith. Something everyone teases her over. Except Krolia, who always looks at her in a deep understanding that has Shiro laughing and Keith blushing hot.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” She agrees fondly and Keith scrapes her nails across again.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you open the other drawer and pull out the little black bag?” Keith asks her after a minute, pulling the last of Shiro’s hair into a small braid.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro does as she’s asked, eyeing the bag with interest. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen it before. “This one?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm,” Keith hums, grabbing a bobby pin off the countertop and sliding it over some loose hair. “Hand me the red ribbon, please.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro pulls it out, eyeing the smooth, deeply red silk. It’s the exact color of her favorite wine, only that bit darker than Keith’s red paladin armor, and it feels so nice against her palm. She breathes deep as Keith pulls it out of her hand, through her fingers. It feels rich, expensive.</p><p> </p><p>“Where’d you get these? And when?”<br/>
<br/>
“On my last trip to Daibazzel. Allura and Romelle helped me pick them out.” Keith explains and she ties Shiro’s hair with the ribbon, expertly toying it into a neat bow.</p><p> </p><p>Shiro pulls the end of the braid over her shoulder, the white of her hair contrasting beautifully with the red ribbon. Keith styled her hair in a number of braids, with several strands linking together. It’s beautiful and she tells her girlfriend as such, pleased at the happy smile Keith gives in return.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this one mean?” She asks her, because over the years Shiro’s recognized the telltale marks of Galra hairstyles and this one screams old Daibazzel. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen any of the galra sporting this one though.</p><p> </p><p>Keith’s face softens that much more. “Betrothed.”</p><p> </p><p>Shiro swallows and shoots a look down at Keith’s hand where it rests on her shoulder. There, on her ring finger, is a thin band of grey, meteorite, and a balmeran crystal settled in the center. Runes carved the sides of it, an old dialect of the galra. Krolia had helped her make it, true to its galran roots. It wasn’t quite traditional, as usually, galra proposed with a necklace or weapon of similar style, but Shiro had wanted to mix their heritages together.</p><p> </p><p>She looks back over at Keith. “Want me to do your hair now?”</p><p> </p><p>Keith hands her a black ribbon in reply.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s going to be messy,” Shiro warns her because it always is. “And you’ll have to give me directions.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith only grins. “It’ll be perfect.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We all know I'm a slut for femsheith and it was such an honor to be a part of the femsheith exchange. Here's to more in the future!</p><p>As always it was a pleasure and I hope everyone enjoyed this one! I felt especially soft writing it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>